She returns from a three day conference across the country, so glad to be home.
Home to her cottage at the end of the lane. She missed her home, her home missed her. As she came up the garden path she pulled her keys out. At the front door she was bringing the key up when she heard a click and the front door popped open. She smiled as she went in. The house really had missed her. She smiled again when she heard the kettle boiling in the kitchen. She throws her travel bag on the bed; she’ll unpack later. Back in the kitchen she opens the cupboard and finds her favourite mug swinging back and forth on its hook. She takes it down with a nod of thanks. Rattles come from the drawer. Half a dozen teaspoons are jostling for first place. With a murmur of thanks directed at those not chosen she takes one out. She can hear teabags milling around in the caddy. Again, she takes just one and nods at the rest.
She pauses, teabag dangling from her fingers. She looks around and sighs with satisfaction. She hears the house echo with a soft hiss.
They are both glad that she’s home.